Strike and cure his heart
by mskiki
Summary: Striking him isn't about punishment and pain, it's about trust and need. Andrea/Milton. Contains sexual content and BDSM dynamics (femdom, spanking).


"One, two, th-three, oh, four…"

There's a loud slapping noise at the end of each count. It's the sound of skin meeting skin. It's the sound of air compressing and moving with a crackle. It's the sound of perfect pain working its way through nerve endings. It's a deafening, dizzying sort of sound that mingles with labored breathing and soft, choked groans.

It's one of the things Andrea thinks she might like best in this world, all the way up there at the top of the list near hot water and caramel bars and the excited hitch in Milton's voice when he talks about biochemistry.

She likes everything about these moments, far too hard to come by in a world ruled by disaster. There never seems to be enough time, to set things up properly, to get Milton into that head space, to get away from the proximity of others. She regrets that this isn't something they can just do whenever they like, whenever the fire lights up in Milton's eyes or her palms itch with the need to touch. She regrets that they don't have any proper equipment; if she'd only met him before the world had ended she could have taken him home and shown him all the things she kept tucked away in that guest bedroom. Andrea could let him pick out toys and whips and restraints from her collection, let him decide what he wanted and how. She could imagine what he'd be like, pouring over the objects with a clinical interest, asking her about their uses and merits. She could imagine him researching every scene and kink before they tried it, imagine him preparing in the way he liked best. It hurt sometimes to think she'd never get to see that. There would never be enough time or enough peace for many of the things she wanted to ask him to do. There would never be enough equipment to do anything _more_; never a way to find it, never a way to sanitize makeshift toys, never a way for him to research enough to feel truly comfortable.

But there was this. They had this.

She has never been a stranger to these kinds of things, but the first time he'd asked her to hit her during sex, Andrea had been stunned. She had felt like that life was far behind her, left somewhere with civilization. Finding men who shared in her activities had been hard enough before, with her constant traveling and long work hours. The odds of finding one now, once the world was over and the population cut by quarters, had once seemed impossible. And then Milton came along. The fact that he wants it, thrives on it, it is a blessing and furthers the nagging at the back of her mind that he really was the sort of perfect she needs.

"Six, sev-ah-seven."

She loves looking at him like this- backside red, skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat, hands fisted in the rough sheets she'd laid out. He was beautiful in his openness and she relishes that bit of power and self he gave over to her so willingly.

It isn't just about inflicting pain, though there was a part of Andrea that thrives on that. When she was young she had hated that part of herself, worried that she was wired wrong and that she was too dark for the real world. But she has long since grown past those fears, learned to embrace the parts of her she only shares with a select few. It isn't about the pain, not really. It's about that trust. It's a heady feeling, that someone can trust her so much, so completely that they let her hurt them, that they let her speak humiliation, that they let her see them so raw. The level of trust is powerful; made her feel powerful. Andrea loves _doing_ for people, it was why she went into civil law. To be able to _do_ for someone in the bedroom, give them exactly what they need to feel good and safe and cared for, it filled her heart. It came as natural as breathing.

"Ni-nine, ten, eleven- oh, Andrea." His voice is low, strained. Milton can't scream here, not with the world so quiet and the walls so thin. It's a shame; she would like to hear him so loud and raw that he was hoarse the next day. They've talked about it before and Andrea knows he likes the idea too.

"I didn't say you could do anything but count." She reminds him, sweet and firm. Andrea swipes against his thighs, just catching her fingers and top of her palm against his skin. The noise is quieter; the flesh doesn't have as much give there. The whine in Milton's throat makes her smile, makes her want to hug him and slap him again.

She puts her hand back on his reddened cheeks, just palming over her marks. She likes the heat rolling off the marks. Andrea likes her hand print, shiny and pink against his too pale skin. This long into the end of time and he still couldn't get a tan. She'd found a tube of tanning oil on a run once and given it to him as a joke. Milton had laughed, a hearty laugh not one of those nervous ones he was always giving around everyone else, and tucked it in his go bag. She'd held his hair that night while he washed her with his tongue- his act of gratitude for the gift.

"Will you be good?" She asks like she doesn't already know the answer. They've only done this a handful of times, but Andrea already knows him.

"I'll be good." His answer is fast, ready and eager. He looks back at her over his shoulder, eyes smaller without the framing of his glasses and his smile boyish. Milton's face is the same shade of pink as a collar she had back home and she thinks how beautiful it would look on him now. Not that he needs the accessories, like this he's already a masterpiece. Milton trusts her and that makes him loveliest thing she's ever seen. Trust had always been key these things. Trust was harder to come by out here, but once earned it was thicker, stronger than she'd ever known it to be in the before. Andrea trusts him, emphatically, and she knows he trusts her.

She raises her hand back from his ass and strikes him again across the left cheek, palm flat and fingers splayed. His body rocks forward with the hit, just a little, and his head drops back between his shoulders. Before it does, Andrea sees a flash of happiness in Milton's eyes and watches peace spread over his face. He trusts her to give him that and it makes her heart sing to see it.

"Twelve." Milton breathes and she can't help but give the mark a squeeze. She loves the hitch in his voice when she does. Andrea knows he has to be painfully hard by now. She doesn't have to look to see how his cock is flushed and dripping and bobbing against his stomach with every hit. She really does wish they were back in her home, where they could have all the time in the world to keep going. She wants to prolong it, to have all night with him on his hands and knees. It hurts that she can't.

"Just three more." Her voice is edged with promise. Milton doesn't say anything, just as instructed. But he arches his back, pressing back against the hand she lays flat across his thighs. Andrea smiles and smacks him again, low on his right cheek. Just a quick, light hit. She does it again.

"Thirteen. Fourteen."

She hits again, hand cupped, hitting the right cheek from the left. The angle makes the cheeks separate for just a moment, and the heat spikes in her blood. She wishes she had a strap on, that she could fuck him while his skin was still burning from her strikes and every thrust made his nerve endings scream.

"Fifteen." His voice is light and pleased but still wrecked. She likes that. Andrea likes that he's happy with what they've done. She likes that he's ready for more.

She leans over him, pressing her lips against his spine. Milton tilts his head back and she can see how bright his eyes are in the low light. "You did so well." She praises, rubbing his thighs. "So, so well." His smile is infectious. She wraps a hand around to his front, finding his cock and stroking it. "You deserve this, being so good."

Milton whines and tries to stay still, but she can feel the tremble to his skin. She presses her other hand between her own legs, and works them both quickly. She can feel his pulse against the underside of his cock and she knows he's close. So is she. "Its okay, come on." Andrea urges and he's done, spilling against the sheet and her hand with a broken cry. She's not far behind, images of what she wants to do filling her mind and spurring her on.

He collapses on his side, spent and sleepy. She lies with him, groping behind her to find the lotion bottle she tucked in the corner before they began. She pops the cap and pours in on his ass, back and thighs. She slow rubbing it in, keeping her touch light. It's meant to soothe, not to hurt. She's glad the skin isn't broken, it happened once when they used a belt and they both felt guilty about stealing antiseptic for their play when medical care was so hard to come by. They gave up the belt after that. It was part of the new negotiation of this world, learning to weigh what was wanted against what could be spared when supplies were sparse.

Milton sighs, looking gentle and content as she massages the cream into his skin. He tucks against her and she rubs her hand up his back, pulling him close. Andrea likes this part just as much as the scene itself, the quiet intimacy in the moments after. She presses her hand higher, fingers making circles on the nape of his sweaty neck, and pushes their foreheads together.

"Did you like it?" She asks, as always.

He smiles at her, tired and free. "Mmm, yes." Milton's voice is slow and thick as molasses; she knows it won't take long for him to fall asleep. "More on the thighs next time."

Andrea agrees to his request and pets him until the breath fanning across her face is even. They'll talk more in the morning, during the quick rush to get dressed for the day, or if they're needed, in whatever moments they can steal away together. They'll talk about what they did when their minds are clearer. They'll talk about the things they still want, about the ping pong paddle she's been trying to find on every run and about watching her get off while his hands are tied. They'll talk about the things they don't have the time and place for, about canes and rings made for play and long fingers. They'll kiss in quick, wet pecks when they're called away for watch and research. Maybe tomorrow they'll play again, or maybe they'll have slow, easy sex in her cot. Or maybe they'll just lie together in the still night, and Milton will tell her about something he read until she falls asleep against his chest. That's becoming one of her favorite ways to fall asleep, listening to his heart beat and the vibration of his voice. And this, _this_ here is the other, with their heads bowed together and the tension all poured out from his body.

When he looks so peaceful and sated and happy, all because of what she did for him, it's one of the things Andrea thinks she might like best in the world.


End file.
